


The One Where Stiles Dies Because He Decides Driving Home at Nine on a Friday Night is a Damn Good Idea

by Wolfy_P_Smith



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And it's sole purpose is to make my beta really sad, And my beta was asleep so it's unedited, Drowsy Driving, Established Relationship, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, I just want Sterek to be real dammit, It happened right as i was listening to sleeping with sirens so it probably sucks, It's real in our hearts, Late Night Driving, M/M, No I do not want to turn on Sticky Keys, Please Don't Kill Me, You can imagine where this is going, i wrote this at four in the morning, if you haven't caught on still you slow but anyway someone dies, these tags are really bad because i need sleep, wtf does that even mean?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2944043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfy_P_Smith/pseuds/Wolfy_P_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think the title explains it all.  Is that a good thing or not?  Probably not.  Titles aren't really supposed to give away the entire plot.  You know what?  It's a Monday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Stiles Dies Because He Decides Driving Home at Nine on a Friday Night is a Damn Good Idea

**Author's Note:**

> In all seriousness, don't read this. I would take it down but I worked too damn hard on that sleepless night for me to just rid of it completely.

Stiles isn’t sure what time it is. To him, it honestly makes no difference; he is with Derek, and that’s all that matters.

He hears what his supposed best friends say about him when they think he’s out of earshot. From Scott: “He’s like, what, thirty years older than him?” A rather spiteful exaggeration. From Lydia: “I don’t think they’re _right_ for each other.” Well what does she know about their goddamn relationship? It’s not like she ever bothers to ask. Jackson: “Hope he likes the smell of wet dog.” _More than I like you!_ he’d wanted to shout into the jackass’ face, but alas that’d require him revealing he was eavesdropping, which was rather frowned upon by the general population.

The nastiest disputes come from his own flesh and bones. The sheriff straight up tells him that what he and Derek have will soon pass just like every other short-lived relationship Stiles has ever had. He’d tried to pass it off as a partial joke, calling it puppy love ( _Get it, kid? Puppy? Because he’s a wolf… No? In my head, you were choking on hysterics over this…_ ). But Stiles had only cocked his head slightly, a scornful look printed deeply across his face. How could he even begin to explain that Derek was _everything_ to him convincingly but not in a total Romantic Comedy sort of way? As much as his father supported his son’s decisions, he sure made Stiles feel awful about the whole situation.

But whatever doubt he has instantly melts away when he is with his Sourwolf. The man has that effect on him, which worries Stiles a bit. However, that worry hardly matters, for the pure relief of being with him overpowers other petty feelings of uncertainty.

Stiles is passionately kissing the older man when he feels a vibration in his back pocket. “Dammit,” he grumbles into the kiss, knowing exactly who would be calling in the middle of a sexy make-out session. He breaks off the kiss resentfully and answers his phone with a “What, _Dad_?”

“Just checking in on you, _Stiles_ , since it’s nine at night and I don’t know if you got backed into a dark alley and shanked in the face.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the sheriff’s pointedly imprudent concerns. Still, he can’t help but smile a bit at the thought of being shanked in the face. Or rather someone else being shanked in the face. He hardly believes it would be so funny inflicted on his self.

“Sorry,” he grudgingly apologizes, knowing his dad means well. “Didn’t realize the time. I’ll be home in a bit.”

He doesn’t wait for a response as he hangs up and slips his phone into its place in his back pocket. “I really don’t want to leave you,” he breathes, nuzzling himself into Derek’s tender neck.

“Why?” Derek murmured, half asleep despite it only being nine. “Your phone killed the mood anyway.” He lazily drapes his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, encouraging the cuddling.

Stiles scoffs, saying sardonically, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to do that thing I’ve heard people from foreign lands do. What’s it called again? Oh yeah, conversing. Some people might find _conversing_ to be more powerful than face-sucking.”

“Hmm,” purrs an ignorant, seemingly uncaring Derek.

“You fucking Manwolf jerkass shitface.”

Stiles can feel Derek’s jaw move in to what he believes to be a smirk. He murmurs, “Shooting every insulting name you can think of at me won’t make me feel bad about wanting to kiss you.”

“I can think of more if you’d like…” is all he replies as he removes himself from Derek’s snug, chiseled body and towards the bedroom entrance of Derek’s new apartment. “Okay, I am leaving now.”

“Come here real quick.”

He truthfully can’t resist the urge to obey Derek so he listens and walks straight to the man.

“Be careful driving home, okay?”

Stiles nods candidly with wide eyes. It’s taken some getting used to this new, almost loving Derek. The beginning of their relationship consisted of contemptuous remarks and macabre glares, a considerably greater amount on Derek’s side. But as their relationship grew, so did their way of coping with their clashing personalities. They went from deadly staring showdowns and distrustful glances to light smiles and sweet partings.

“It’s a Friday night, so there will be a lot of stupid drivers out. Be alert, just as alert as you are with hunters, alright?” Stiles nods again, but apparently this isn’t enough, for Derek adds indomitably, “Promise me, Stiles.”

“I promise, Derek. Can I go now? My dad is already going to kill me when I get home.”

Derek wraps him in a warm, firm hug that Stiles cherishes greatly. He cares not what they say: he’s in love with his Sourwolf.

Those three small yet meaningful words nearly slip from his mouth: I love you. He parts his lips slightly, as if he is brave enough to say them, as if he isn’t beyond terrified that Derek won’t return the word exchange. He regrets always leaving Derek without at least saying something of the sort, but those words can wait. Unless he died before he could or something. Ha. How perfectly tragic would that be?

The drive home is arduous and tiring. Last week was final’s week, depriving him of all necessary sleep. Plus he has a forty-five minute trip since Derek is no longer apart of the pack and decided to move as far away as fucking possible. Stiles tries to crank up his jams, but nothing can keep his drooping eyes open at this point. Deciding the best thing he can do is pull over, he does so, even though he’s on a somewhat sketchy highway road that stretches on for miles and miles without a single house or store.

He allows his eyes to completely shut as he drifts off to dreamland. They’re lucid tonight, his dreams. Filled with sad thoughts of losing the people he loves dearly. He dreams of the pack being taken down by hunters who disregarded the code, of demons snatching his father away from him, of Jackson getting shanked in the face. Well, that he doesn’t particularly mind if we’re being honest with ourselves here. And finally, he dreams of Derek Hale dying in his arms before Stiles ever gets the chance to mutter those three words.

In his dream, a horn blares into his ears and bright, blinding lights flash across his eyes sorely. He hears a loud screech, a big bang, a piercing shattering, and suddenly, he’s in excruciating pain, more pain than he thought possible for a dream.

_Wake up, dumbass, this isn’t a dream._

His eyes snap open, but he sees only bent metal, shattered glass, and crimson red. “Oh,” he mutters, realizing he is bleeding and metal had impaled itself into his guts. “ _Oh_.”

“Shit!” he barely hears someone outside curse. “Hey, man! You ‘live? I am callin’ an amb’lance!”

But Stiles’ hearing goes out and the world begins to fade to black. He knows he’s not going to live, he knows it, and it’s the best he can do to accept that fact. He says a silent prayer, asking for guidance for himself, his dad, and his friends. 

And finally, his heart stops beating, his last thoughts being that he’ll never get to tell Derek he loves him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the utter terribleness of this fic. To be honest, it was only written because I am currently having a weird insomnia episode. If you care to know the inspiration for writing this particular work, I'll just say I owe it all to my beta. Thank you, kind beta, for dropping a bottle of lotion on my face and busting up my lip and leaving this huge ass cut on deze luscious lips. Beta's favorite ship is Sterek, so I decided I might as well kill Stiles. Because why the hell not? Oh, and initiate a onesided, never-ending game of punchies. Anyway, sorry you had to suffer through this fic. However, if I get another damn rude comment dissing on petty, insignificant things in my fic, I will sacrifice a fucking cow. I know the nonexistent plot is lame; there's no need to reiterate.
> 
> Well, that's it. Happy New Year Almost and I am going to go play Dragon Age: Inquisition before my sister wakes up and tries to play her stupid ass wanna be male exotic dancer. He does look pretty nice with his blue eyeshadow though. Gotta give him credit for that. Thanks for reading! But if you didn't read and just skipped to the end notes like I admittedly sometimes do, well, hihi, let's just say I have my ways of knowing... [and here would be some sort of creepy gif].


End file.
